Twenty Years Later
by Kaz1167
Summary: It all starts when Haru is seven years old and plays make-believe with Makoto.


This was written for the wonderful Makoharu Festival being hosted on Tumblr. I can't post a link here, but the username is makoharufestival. The fics with the most notes at the end of the festival will receive a prize, so, if you enjoyed my story, I would love it you would like or reblog it on Tumblr (my Free! tumblr account is ishouldbeanimated). Please check out the other entries for the Makoharu Festival as well! :)

* * *

_7._

When Makoto convinces him to play make-believe, he is always a merman. Usually, Makoto is a sailor who has been thrown overboard or a swimmer who has been carried away by the sea's current. It is always Haru's duty to save him and it is one he takes very seriously.

Sometimes he fights off an evil sea monster and Makoto clutches the back of his shirt if they are on land or hangs on his shoulders if they are in the pool. Sometimes he has to save Makoto from a treacherous land-dweller who tries to capture Haru by holding Makoto captive. The story changes, but they always win against the villain and they always live happily ever after.

Haru does a lot of rescuing and fighting when they play make-believe and it takes more energy than he'd usually expend, but he kind of likes their games. Of course, he'd never admit it, but he likes watching Makoto's green eyes light up when he's coming up with new ideas for their imaginary selves. He doesn't even mind when Makoto calls him "Haru-chan" during their games. He enjoys playing make-believe with his best friend and the way it makes Makoto's smile that much brighter. It's fun.

One day, an older boy in the neighborhood interrupts their game of make-believe, just as Haru is about to kill the mutant jellyfish, and asks why Makoto always acts like such a princess when they play. Makoto's bottom lip trembles dangerously and he just barely manages to keep his tears at bay, as Haru tugs him back to Makoto's house. Haru swears he'll never forgive this stupid boy for making Makoto sad.

Makoto doesn't ask to play make-believe anymore after that and Haru misses their adventures.

_11._

"Don't you think you're too old to be sharing a bed with Makoto, Haruka?"

Something doesn't make sense about his mother's question and it makes him feel uncomfortable, like there is something his parents know that he doesn't. Has he done something wrong? Has Makoto? Haru feels his stomach lurch at his mother's chilled words, his father's hands stilling as he flips to the next page of the morning's paper. He notices his father glance over the grey pages to look at his mother, who only slightly raises her eyebrows and tilts her head in response. His father sighs and buries his nose in his paper once more, his mouth pulled in a tight line.

It had been a standard sleepover; Makoto had come over after swim practice and stayed for dinner. They had played a few games, worked on summer homework, and gone to bed. Haru had helped Makoto settle into his futon on the floor, only to be awoken later in the night by the sound of Makoto's muffled, crying gasps. Always knowing what would help his friend calm down from a nightmare, Haru turned over, let his hand find Makoto's in the dark, and gently tugged until the green-eyed boy finally crawled in bed beside him. When his mother came to wake them up, she had found Makoto curled against Haru, his arms wrapped around him, their hands still intertwined.

"Makoto had a nightmare."

"Ah, I see, well…that's too bad, it's just… You're almost eleven now, and your father and I think it would be better if Makoto stayed sleeping in his futon when he comes over. Otherwise, no more sleepovers…"

Haru doesn't respond and pushes the mackerel around his plate aimlessly, his favorite food no longer appetizing.

"Do you understand, Haru?"

He doesn't, but he nods anyway.

_14._

On his 14th birthday, Haru jolts awake, breathless and uncomfortable. This is by no means the first time he has had _that_ kind of dream, but usually the dreams are vague, full of nondescript figures that leave his mind the moment he awakes. But this dream…

This dream was very much about someone in particular.

Flashes of glimmering green and tanned skin haunt him when he closes his eyes, a gentle voice he has memorized teasing, ringing, in his ears. Makoto's already gone through a growth spurt, his chest broader and more muscular than it used to be, and, for some reason, the thought of his best friend's smile sends a warm feeling through his body.

Later that day at the pool, Makoto's mother absentmindedly mentions that many of Makoto's shirts are getting too short and small on the suddenly too tall boy. His mother jokes that they would probably fit Haru and Makoto's mother offers to bring a few of them over when they return home for dinner.

All Haru can do is think of his best friend and those too sweet smiles he saves just for Haru and wearing his shirts and being wrapped in his scent. Seeing Makoto swim beside him—his stroke strong and powerful, swiftly cutting through the water despite a lack of practice—is almost too much, so he dives deeper into the pool to hide his blush, knowing exactly who will be featuring in his dreams tonight.

_17._

It was inevitable, really.

Something had changed after the night in the hotel, Haru's stumbling, thankful confession igniting a slow burning fire that inched its way across the fuse until, finally, the fuse had met its end, an eruption of pent-up longing engulfing the two of them. He supposes this would have happened eventually, regardless of his failed confession; the experiences of the past year only strengthening his love for Makoto rather than solely creating it, and he's almost certain Makoto has felt the same way for as long as he has.

Two weeks after regionals, when Makoto pulls him from the pool, swim practice having ended hours ago, his hand lingers in Makoto's for a few seconds longer than normal and he _knows_. Makoto's thumb glides against the water-slicked back of his hand, blue eyes watching the green ones staring at their hands, and Haru hesitantly twists his hand in Makoto's to intertwine their fingers. Makoto's eyes flick to his and Haru knows that they have out grown hiding whatever it is that has _always_ existed between them.

Suddenly Haru finds himself wrapped in strong arms, back pressed against the cool cement wall, flush against his best friend, the pool water still dripping off his skin. His lips have never felt so much, the warmth and wetness of Makoto's tongue and lips pleasantly foreign to him, sending tingling jolts throughout his body, and Haru is sure he'll never want to stop kissing him. Hands graze across his torso, Makoto's thumbs slowly venturing down each defined ripple of his abs before settling on his hips.

"Is this alright, Haru? Is this what you want?" Makoto's breathless questions make him open his eyes to meet hesitant, hopeful green. He doesn't speak, but his eyes say enough for a relieved smile to break across Makoto's face and Haru suddenly needs to know what it feels like to have that smile against his lips. He surges forward, mouth pressing into Makoto's, his hands pulling him closer.

When their kiss ends, Makoto peppers little pecks across his cheeks and wet hair before he pulls him tightly into his chest. A wave of relief and love rushes through him when he finds that he still fits perfectly in the embrace of his best friend, his head resting against Makoto's chest, their arms notched around each other. For the first time in years, Haru feels like he belongs somewhere.

_18._

A month before their graduation, they tell Haru's parents.

_It's just a phase. _(It's not).

_You'll grow out of it._ (He won't).

_You're ruining your lives_. (They aren't).

Brittle bonds snap under an unwanted confession and soon the Tachibana household welcomes one more under their roof. Most of Haru's belongings are kept packed away for when they will move to their apartment by the university this summer, but it is still cramped, fitting two boys into one small room. They have to strategically make space for things like Haru's limited wardrobe (Makoto has to convince Haru not to keep all of his pants in storage just so he can keep all his jammers in Makoto's drawers) and his school books, but Haru doesn't mind the absence of his stuff one bit. He has never felt more at home.

_27. _

Haru rummages through the belongs in his desk as Makoto continues to make packing the pots and pans in their kitchen sounds like it's the background noise in a war movie.

As he glances around the barren room once more, looking for anything else to fit in his half-full box, he smiles to himself. The small apartment had been home to them for a few years, a perfect place to start as they embraced the rigors of university life. It had been the perfect place for long nights of studying, Makoto buried under pre-med and, later, medical school textbooks and Haru hunched over his designs. It had been the perfect place for long nights of a different kind, their shared need to know what made the other moan or gasp or cry out explored in the warmth of their little room. It had been the perfect place to grow into their new, yet familiar, relationship, to grow into the subtle changes in their bond as they experienced each new journey with each other.

But it was time for them to move, Makoto having recently found a position as a pediatrician in a neighboring town. This time, their apartment would be a little bigger with a bit more space for them and maybe the cat or two that Makoto had been wanting since leaving Iwatobi, but Haru knows this will not be the last time they move. In a few years, maybe they could even build a house of their own, one that Haru had designed, a place where they could grow into the next phase of their lives (and hopefully one that was close to both Makoto's office and the pool Haru had insisted on finding the first time they had visited).

Now, they don't have to play make-believe to find their "happily ever after." Now, if Makoto has a nightmare, Haru doesn't have to coax him into bed to comfort him or worry about disapproving gazes. Haru doesn't need to feel ashamed of dreaming about his best friend or carrying out those dreams with his lover, and he doesn't hesitate to steal Makoto's still-too-big clothing. And he has never stopped wanting to kiss Makoto's smile. He turns the light off and ventures out to the kitchen to help his struggling boyfriend, still lightly smiling at the thought of his future with the boy he grew up with and the love they never out grew.


End file.
